Jonah Bennett (Bennett Mafia)

That was my family.

But it was time. If she was going to marry me, she needed to know what she was marrying into. It was only fair, but once she knew, I’d have to be prepared that she might decide not to be with me—or worse, that she’d say something to someone else.

I leaned back and shot her a grin. “When you meet them, you’ll know why.”

The traffic still wasn’t moving forward, and more horns had started to blare.

I frowned. “You think it’s an accident up there? That’s why we’re stalled?”

“Oh.” Her smile melted away.

If someone was hurt, we were supposed to go help.

Melissa reached for her seatbelt at the same time I did.

“Open the trunk,” I called as we rounded to the rear of the car.

She found the button to pop it open, and I saw a first aid kit pushed back in the corner. I grabbed it, shutting the trunk.

As I did, a guy came walking toward us, past the truck in front of us. Tall. Broad shoulders. White. He was in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, decked out like a stereotypical cowboy—probably Wrangler jeans and a shirt stolen from the set of an old Clint Eastwood movie. I catalogued all that out of habit.

He saw me and stopped.

He looked at Melissa.

He turned back to me. “You’re Jonah Bennett?”

I frowned. “Who’s asking?”

“Do we know you?” Melissa stepped toward him, looking him over. The doctor in her came first, always. “Are you hurt? Is there a car accident back there where you came from—”

She was concerned about him, concerned about others.

That’s what she did, who she was, and why I loved her.

He pulled a gun out and pointed it at her.

She didn’t seem to register that.

She was looking for blood on him when he pulled the trigger.

Chapter Two

JONAH

“No!”

The world exploded in screams.

Then blood.

More blood.

More gunfire.

People were running.

I was running. I caught Melissa’s body, but the guy—I looked.

The guy was gone.

* * * *

“We need you to come down to the station,” said a voice from somewhere above me.

We were at the hospital—or I was. But I wasn’t working. I was… I didn’t know what I was doing.

That guy—Melissa was already dead when I caught her body, but the ambulance still brought her here. They were trying to save her, but I knew. I knew as I felt for her pulse, she was gone.

Two detectives stood before me, and I looked around.

Where am I?

One of the cops looked around, too. He answered slowly, eyeing me. “We’re at San Antonio Medical Center.”

I raked a hand through my hair. “My fiancée, she—” I looked behind them. A doctor stood there, frowning at me, two nurses with him. Why were they looking at me like that?

I stood to go around the cops, to the doctor. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

The doctor looked back at the nurses. One gave him a nod, and he came toward me, his hands in his pockets. “Yes, Mr. Bennett. Your fiancée, Melissa Rainsley, didn’t make it. We were unable to resuscitate her.”

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

God.

God.

I went over it all in my head, remembering the guy, what he’d said.

He’d asked my name, and then shot her.

“What was that?” One of the cops leaned forward.

I looked over, squinting at him. At them both. “The guy. I can give you a description.”

“Yes.” The second cop came forward, showing her badge. “I’m Detective Munoz. We’d like to bring you to the station for questioning.”

Right.

Because Melissa was dead.

The doctor glanced between the cops and me. “Uh… We found a medical card in her belongings. We’re notifying her family since you weren’t married yet.”

Right. They’d take it from here. That’s what he was telling me, and he was right to do that. She was theirs now. They’d take care of her. I had other problems to handle.

I’d witnessed a murder.

But fuck. I had to think.

These were cops.

I couldn’t be stupid here.

I nodded, my mind scrambling.

I had to be smart. I needed time to get organized.

“I need to go to the bathroom first.”

The male detective bristled, starting to walk with me.

The female held him back. I saw the hand she put on his arm.

They thought—No. I couldn’t go there. I didn’t know what they thought.

One of the nurses showed me a back bathroom, and I went inside.

Jesus.

I stopped just inside the door.

Melissa was dead.

She’d been shot.

He’d asked my name, and then shot her.

My name, and shot her.

He never turned the gun on me.

My hand shook, blood still coating it.

Damn. Damn!

None of this was his blood. Just Melissa’s. Not mine.

I went to the sink and washed it off, but gah—I froze midway through and held one of my hands up.

This was her. And she was gone. I washed this away. I was washing her away.

My phone was ringing.

Cursing, I grabbed for a paper towel, a bunch of them, and reached for my phone.